


Scheherazade

by id_ten_it



Series: Short stories [1]
Category: Ballet Shoes - Noel Streatfeild
Genre: Gen, Half Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-23 00:57:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19140379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/id_ten_it/pseuds/id_ten_it
Summary: Five 50-word snippets of life with the Fossil sisters, all based on the book.





	Scheherazade

**Author's Note:**

> Because of various other things taking up significant portions of my time, I'm finding it a lot easier to write in short snippets so here's a series of half drabbles.

I:

“Come _on_ Petrova!” Posy danced back, tugging her sister’s hand. “What are you even looking at? The theatre’s this way.” Petrova followed glumly, turning her head to see the ‘plane. She thought it was a Tiger Moth, but she wasn’t sure. Who wanted a mouldy old theatre anyway?

 

II: 

“Posy!” Nana looked outraged while holding up Posy’s winter shoes, “look at this mess, and these new just this month.”  
“Polish them.” Posy carelessly skimmed across to Nana on her toes.   
“Young Miss, any polishing around here you will do. You need to think about the consequences of your actions.”

 

III: 

Pauline looked seriously at Garnie. She was at the age where adults ceased to be props and became real people. This new affinity showed her a woman with a carefully patched dress and pinched eyes. The eldest Fossil nodded, then smiled against Garnie’s misgivings. “I’d _like_ to do the job.” She said, stoutly.

 

IV: 

Mr Simpson loaded the last suitcase into his car, and dusted his hands off. “That’s that then.” His wife, prettily pregnant, nodded and took his hand. “We’ve been so happy here I half wish we could stay.”  
“I wouldn’t leave for any other reason.” He returned, passing her into the car.

 

 V:

“Pretty girls.” Gum announced over a campfire one night, “talented, so they tell me. Here, Johnson, have a look.” A faded, crinkled, print caught the firelight. “At a panto. Dance, don’t you know.”   
“Hmm.” Johnson had a family of his own, and passed over a formal picture. “Here’s mine.”


End file.
